Chapter 36 : Who Are You, George?
The organ that pumped blood down Isla's veins was threatening to burst out of her chest. She watched, unable to speak, her eyes wide and heart in her mouth as an enraged George charged toward the two men who had gagged and tied her, and were forcefully leading her outside. He was upon them before they knew it, fighting with a ferocity that both scared and impressed her. He caught a fist in the jaw, his head snapping back sharply and the bat dropping from his hand in the process, but that didn’t stop him as he quickly landed two of his, dropping one of their assailants. He squared off with the second man, making quick work of him as well. Isla hated that she couldn’t help, but soon realized that he didn’t need her help. She watched him take down two buffed-up, mean-looking men with skills she had seen only in her action movies, and if her mouth wasn’t so firmly gagged, her jaw would drop in shock.
Both of her assailants were on the floor, groaning in pain while George rushed to her side. “Are you okay?” he asked, eyes scanning her frame. She nodded desperately, nervous about the presence of the men. There was a trickle of blood on the side of his head that didn’t particularly fill her with ease either. He unbound her quickly and, taking out her gag, firmly told her. “Don’t call the cops.”
She frowned in confusion, unsure she had heard him properly, but before she could protest, a gunshot rang out. George flung himself over Isla, half dragging, half pushing her to the space behind the counter. It was made of solid oak and should provide adequate cover, he believed, her safety prominent in his mind. One more shot rang out and then, silence. George peeked over and realized that neither of his fight pals were there. There must have been a third person, probably the getaway driver, who shot around to give his mates a chance to escape. As if in confirmation of his thoughts, there was a faint sound of screeching tires in the distance. George rushed to the window overlooking the street below, hoping to get a glimpse of the number plates or something that could help with identification. All he saw though, was a black van, speeding away into the darkness.
Turning around, he went searching for Isla. “Babe? You okay?”
She was sitting on the floor, a few feet away from where he had left her, head bowed and shivering. As he reached out to comfort her, her head snapped up, glaring at him menacingly, a hint of fear in her eyes.
“Who the hell are you!?”
***
George was stunned at the venom in her voice, confused at her question. He returned his outreaching arm to his side, watching her as she struggled to stand, her pitiful movements twisting his guts. He reached out to help, but her glare halted him. As she limped away, he went after her. “Now, come on, Isla. What’s going on?”
Isla limped away from him, her legs sore and her head pounding. Her mind raced, exploring so many possibilities. Was it over? Were they coming back? WHO were they? She rushed to lock her front door, surprised they had not broken in but picked her locks excellently. They were professionals; she was certain of that. Who had sent them? What did they want?
One problem at a time, Isla, she chided herself. One problem at a time. Settling into her sofa, she waited for the man who had just saved her life to return. She had some questions that needed immediate answering. He resurfaced, checking all the possible entrances into the condo, and ensuring they were locked. Not that they would do any good against professionals such as the ones that had just left, she thought bitterly. “Sit, George,” she said, gesturing to the sofa facing hers. “Please.”
He settled into the sofa, hating to be, for once, on the other side of an interrogation table. “Why did you instruct me not to call the police, George?” she asked, her voice laced with suspicion. “Please don’t lie to me, George. And where did you learn to fight like that?”
The last statement gave George pause, his name on her lips convincing him to tread carefully. His mind raced. She had just watched him fight two professional guns for hire, displaying skills that were anything but regular and subduing them. He had also emphatically warned her NOT to call the police; the direct opposite of what a person in distress would do. He had hoped that, in the heat of the moment, she wouldn’t recollect that bit of instruction, but he had been wrong. He had intended to pursue them on his own, without blowing his cover.
“George?” she prompted, her tone pleading, impatient.
He rubbed the back of his neck, the soreness starting to become prominent as his adrenaline regressed. He could also start to feel the pain on other spots of his body where he had been hit. He grimaced; those guys were brutal. Ignoring her question for the moment, he stood up and headed to the freezer, taking out ice for his head. He was also buying himself some time to think as he had to handle this situation delicately. He struggled with how he could speak to her, and not lose this woman who had grown to become a part of him. The best part of him, if he was being honest with himself.
He was boxed in anyhow he looked at it. She wasn’t stupid; he had to give her something. Taking a deep breath, George opened his mouth to spill the words he hoped he would never have had to break to her this abruptly.